Harry stood in the midst of the chaos he had created in the hospital ward, shouting for assistance, with Draco's lifeless form clasped tightly to his chest. The blond boy's head had fallen forward and he was dead weight in Harry's arms; Harry was fast using up his last reserves of strength to keep them both upright.

As the door at the end of the ward crashed open and Dumbledore sprinted toward him (faster than a man that age should have any business moving), a large black dog at his side and Snape, McGonagall and Pomfrey close behind him, Harry's vision abruptly blurred and doubled, and he felt his legs give way as complete exhaustion finally overwhelmed him.

He sank slowly to the floor, taking Draco with him as sheer panic spread across the faces of the five adults present (five because the dog, upon seeing Harry crumple to the floor, had morphed into a gaunt, black-haired man without so much as breaking his stride).

Sirius hurled himself to his knees beside the two boys, encompassing them both in his strong arms, but it was Harry all his attention was focused on. So much blood, he was thinking, oh dear God, there's blood everywhere…

As for Harry, he stared up at his godfather, blinking hard, trying to clear his vision. He didn't think he had ever seen Sirius look so haggard- and that was saying something- and- this he could hardly credit- there were tears running down the older man's weathered face. And then he realized that Sirius was speaking to him, trying and failing to control the fear in his voice.

"Harry…oh no…God, no…how are you hurt? Where are you hurt? Harry, tell me! Who did this to you?"

Glancing down at himself, he realized that his clothes were soaked in Draco's blood, and that this (together with his collapse) was what was making Sirius think that he was wounded as well. He attempted to lever himself up on his elbows as he gasped out, "Sirius…no! I'm okay…I'm not hurt…all the blood is Malfoy's. Sirius, he needs help- help him, please!"

Already Draco was being lifted off of him by Snape, whose grim expression didn't quite mask the look of shocked horror in his eyes. "Draco," Snape was murmuring, and Harry had never heard his tone so gentle, "Draco…Draco?"

As if from far away, Harry heard Dumbledore's deep, calm voice instructing Snape to take Draco to one of the private rooms. He renewed his struggles to sit up, straining against Sirius, who was trying to hold him immobile. "Professor," he gasped, "let me go with him! I need to stay with him, professor! This is my fault- he's my responsibility now- please!" He was working himself into a frenzy, staring after the departing Snape. "Professor, PLEASE!"

Dumbledore hunkered down beside him and placed a soothing hand on Harry's shoulder. Looking back up at Madam Pomfrey and professor McGonagall, who were both staring at Sirius in unmitigated shock, he cleared his throat. "I assure you, ladies, that there is no cause for alarm- at least, not in regard to the presence of Mr. Black," the headmaster said. "Now, Poppy, if you would be so kind as to go after Severus and do what you can for young Malfoy?"

Madam Pomfrey turned on her heel and hurried away, casting one more wide-eyed, disbelieving glance over her shoulder at Sirius as she went.

"Now Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, turning back to Harry as professor McGonagall knelt down beside him as well, "please calm down." Harry had given up fighting Sirius's strong grasp, but his eyes were frantic. "I assure you that you will be allowed to return to Draco's side shortly- I will personally see to it that a second bed is placed in his room for your use, as you are clearly exhausted. First, however, I must insist that you answer some very important questions."

Harry nodded dumbly in defeat, and allowed himself to sag back against Sirius. He had been supporting Draco for so long on the broomsticks that it was actually a relief now to be the one supported.

"Am I correct in assuming," Dumbledore asked, "that you and Ron went after Voldemort as soon as you saw that Hermione's condition had stabilized? And that Draco and Hermione realized where you had gone and somehow followed you?"

"Yes, sir," Harry whispered.

"And the outcome? Other than the fact that Draco is now at death's door?"

"Voldemort is dead, sir." Harry paused as the adults gasped at this extraordinary news, and then his eyes flicked to Sirius before he added, "So is Peter Pettigrew. He was sneaking up behind me-"

("How very true to his nature," Sirius murmured.)

"-and Ron killed him with the Avada Kedavra curse. He won't get in trouble for that, will he, professor?" he asked anxiously, his eyes returning to Dumbledore.

"Under the circumstances, I should think not," Dumbledore replied. "In fact, once Pettigrew's body is recovered and his treachery revealed, I should think Ron will receive a hero's treatment. And now, speaking of Ron, where are he and Hermione at the moment?"

"They're coming back together on the last broom. I used both the Firebolts to get Malfoy here as fast as I could- so they had to share Ron's broom. They're probably hours behind us."

"I see. And that brings us directly back to the question of Mister Malfoy. How was he wounded, and by whom- Voldemort or Pettigrew? Or were there others as well?"

"No," Harry whispered, "there were no others. And it wasn't Voldemort or Pettigrew either." He let his eyes fall closed, but not before Dumbledore saw the despair in them. "It was me, sir. I stabbed Malfoy."

He heard three shocked intakes of breath and he waited, waited for the anger, for the accusations, for the disappointment he knew was coming- had to be coming- from three of the adults he most respected and loved in the world. But when Dumbledore next spoke, his voice was as gentle as before.

"Harry- surely there is more to it than that. Come, shed some light on this for us."

"I wish-" Harry swallowed hard, gulping back tears, "I wish there was something I could say to you, professor, some reason I could give that would justify what I did…but there's no justification. When I saw Malfoy there with Hermione, I thought he was working with Voldemort…I thought he had brought her against her will, that he was planning to turn her over to…him. And I- I just snapped. I stabbed him and in that instant I wanted him dead, wanted it as badly as I've ever wanted anything in my life." He stopped as a sob was ripped, unwillingly, from his throat.

"And then," he continued shakily, "Voldemort- he thanked me for doing it- and I realized how wrong I was- Malfoy was there for the same reason we were. I think- I'm not sure- but I think he's in love with Hermione. And he was so determined- he didn't go down- he WOULDN'T go down- he fought along with us- he helped us kill Voldemort. Only then- only then did he- did we realize just how bad…"

His voice was choked off as, no longer able to control himself, tears of anguish poured down his cheeks. He buried his head in his hands and sobbed, vaguely aware that Dumbledore's hand remained comfortingly on his shoulder, that the normally stern, reserved professor McGonagall was murmuring words of comfort, that Sirius was rocking him gently, as if he were a child.

Finally he managed to calm himself enough to whisper, "professor…you said…can I…see him now?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore, getting to his feet. "Let us all go and see how Poppy is faring with him."

Sirius helped Harry to his feet, then slung Harry's arm about his own broad shoulder and murmured, "lean on me, Harry." Harry did as he was told, grateful for the support as they followed Dumbledore and McGonagall toward the end of the ward, where a small hallway led to the four private hospital rooms.

Upon entering the room that had been designated as Draco's, Harry broke from Sirius and went quickly to stand beside the bed, staring down at his former enemy's still form.

Draco lay on top of the sheets. The blood that had covered him had been magicked away, and the wound on his chest likewise closed by Madam Pomfrey's healing magic. His blood drenched flying leathers had been removed from his body and were nowhere in sight; he was now clothed all in clean white cotton; a simple long-sleeved tee-shirt and soft drawstring-waist pants. It was hard to tell where the white clothes ended and his skin began; he was so pale.

Dimly, Harry registered hearing Madam Pomfrey speaking anxiously to Dumbledore. "-healed his wound easily enough," she was saying, "and the punctured lung too….but Albus, he's lost so much blood! I can hardly believe he's still alive at all- there's barely a drop left in him-" Harry stopped listening; it was too painful. He turned his attention instead to Snape.

Snape was sitting on the edge of the bed. The front of his robe was tacky with Draco's blood. He was facing away from Draco, but he held his star student's hand tightly in his own. His other hand was clenching and unclenching spasmodically. His expression was hard and set, his jaw clenched, yet his eyes seemed overly bright. Harry had never seen the potions master so visibly shaken before; he looked positively…grief-stricken.

I guess Slytherins can feel love and loyalty too, Harry thought dully; and pain, and loss, and grief. It was not something he had ever really thought about before. For years I wished for a way to hurt Snape, to pay him back for all the mean, unfair things he said and did to me and my friends. Looks like I succeeded at last. He had to consciously bite back the burst of bitter, mirthless laughter that threatened to escape his lips.

And then Sirius was there at his side again, turning Harry away and steering him toward the second bed that had, as Dumbledore had promised, magically appeared in the room.

Harry sank onto the edge of the bed and allowed Sirius to cajole him into lying down, and to cover him with a blanket. Sitting beside him, Sirius gently smoothed Harry's rumpled hair back from his brow. Again, he was treating Harry as if he was six years old- and Harry found that he didn't mind a bit. He smiled weakly up at his godfather. "I'm glad you're here, Sirius," he said.

Sirius returned the smile, though the worry in his eyes did not lessen. "Me too, Harry," he replied. "Now try to get some sleep- you've been through a lot today."

Harry turned his head and gazed at Draco in the next bed. "But Malfoy- I should really-"

"Harry." Harry reluctantly turned to face Sirius again. "You've done everything you can do for him. No one else could have gotten him here by broomstick so quickly. The only faster way would have been apparation- and it's not your fault you haven't been taught that yet. If he pulls through, it will be thanks to you."

"But if he dies it will also be thanks to me," Harry whispered hopelessly. "How's that for irony?"

Sirius appeared unable to think of a suitable reply. "Just sleep," he repeated. He gently plucked Harry's glasses from his face and placed them on the nightstand, and then, astonishingly, he bent and lightly kissed Harry's forehead. Never in his life had Harry been kissed like that before- kissed by an adult as a parent might kiss a child. He felt an immediate sense of safety, security, well-being…that flowed over him in a warm, protective wave and seemed to push back his feelings of guilt, hopelessness and despair. They weren't banished entirely, those awful feelings, but they were distanced and suddenly he felt as though he could sleep, could sleep for a year. His eyelids fell slowly shut as Sirius stood up and, together with Snape, who had just stood as well, went over to join Dumbledore where he was deep in conversation with Madam Pomfrey and professor McGonagall in a corner of the room.

Though fatigue was washing over him in slow, steady waves from head to foot, Harry lay with his eyes closed and struggled to stay awake just a little longer, because he wanted to hear the adults' conversation. He managed to pick up murmurs here and there; Dumbledore was instructing Snape, McGonagall and Sirius to fly out in an attempt to intercept Ron and Hermione. Professor McGonagall was to accompany them safely the rest of the way back to school, while Snape and Sirius were to continue on and hopefully recover Voldemort and Pettigrew's bodies.

"I want to stay with my student-" that was Snape, sounding mutinous.

"Severus, I realize how deeply you care for the boy." Dumbledore again. "But he's in very capable hands now and you are needed elsewhere. Your expertise on a broom is too valuable to waste."

Professor Snape can FLY? Harry thought dazedly. Technically, he had known Snape could fly- he had refereed that quidditch match back in Harry's first year, after all- but from what Dumbledore had just said, it sounded as though Snape were really- well, really GOOD. The thought of grim, angry-eyed Snape zooming around on a broomstick pulling Wronski feints was just too weird. Harry put it from his mind.

"-use a tracking charm to make visible the path that Harry took on his flight here with Draco," Dumbledore was saying now. "If you follow that path back to its origin, you should meet Ron and Hermione along the way and find the bodies at the end of it."

There were a few more murmurs, too low for Harry to make out properly, followed by the sound of receding footsteps and a door opening and closing. Harry with his eyes closed thought for a moment that he and Draco were alone now, until he heard the headmaster sigh heavily and speak once more, this time addressing Madam Pomfrey. It seemed that only Snape, McGonagall and Sirius had left.

"Poor Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "He will be heartbroken if the boy dies, especially if he is not here when it happens. Yet it is better that- whatever the outcome- he not witness this…...I assume you will be administering the blood replacement serum now?" Madam Pomfrey murmured her assent. "He may well be too far gone," came Dumbeldore's sad voice, "but we have nothing to lose by trying."

Harry grimaced. He had heard about blood replacement serum. It could save a victim of massive blood loss even from the brink of death, but was supposed to be painful beyond belief; the body reacted violently to it at first, and it was said to be many times worse even than having bones regrown- (a pain that Harry was all too familiar with)- because whereas the pain of a regrowing bone was at least localized, in the case of the serum the searing pain was felt throughout one's entire body as it spread through one's veins.

He couldn't believe that Draco would have to endure yet more suffering. Because of him; all because of him. Distantly he heard Dumbledore saying something that sounded like, "-should bind him to the bed; he will probably thrash quite a bit. And do give Harry a bit of dreamless sleep potion first. I am going to see to the window."

Hearing footsteps approaching his bed, he managed to drag his eyes open to see Madam Pomfrey bending over him. Slipping a hand beneath his head, she raised it slightly and with her other hand pressed a large vial of potion to his lips. He possessed neither the strength nor the will to resist, so he drank obediently, and was asleep even before she had finished easing his head back onto the pillow.

00000

It was still dark when Harry woke; in fact, no more than a couple of hours had passed, though of course he had no concept of how long he'd been asleep. The only light in the room was a dim glow that emanated from two wands- his and Draco's- lying side by side on the nightstand between the beds.

He can't be dead, then, Harry thought foggily; his wand would go out if he were dead…wouldn't it?

Sitting up slowly, he fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses, pushed away the blankets that covered him and looked down at himself, mildly surprised to find that he was now dressed in soft white clothes identical to those that Draco wore.

Draco.

Abruptly ending his perusal of himself, he turned to stare at the boy in the next bed.

Draco was there; white clothes, white skin, white blond hair. Harry swung his legs over the edge of his bed and, leaning forward, looked harder. Draco was not resting peacefully; far from it. Something was very wrong. Harry glanced quickly around the room, searching for an adult, but the two boys were alone. Then he remembered- the blood replacement serum. He got up, padded barefoot over to Draco's bed, and stood looking down for a moment, feeling fresh tears stinging the backs of his eyes.

I did this…I did this…I did this…

"Malfoy," he whispered. There was no response.

Draco lay on the bed with the covers pooled about his waist. Both his wrists were cuffed with what appeared to be magical bonds- soft yet very strong- and attached to the headboard with about a foot of leeway each. Draco had managed to grab on to the cords around his wrists, and was pulling hard on them. His entire body was taut and trembling. His fair hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his jaw was clenched, and though his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, tears were escaping the corners of them to trickle steadily down the sides of his face. His breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. He was quite clearly in agony- though just as he had earlier when under the Cruciatus curse, he flatly refused to cry out. He simply lay there, his body rigid with pain, and suffered silently.

"Aw- Malfoy," Harry croaked, "I am - so – sorry." He picked up his wand from the nightstand and with a few murmured words released Draco's wrists from their bonds. Draco's arms flew to his sides and he instantly grabbed fistfuls of his blankets and twisted them viciously in his hands. He still gave no indication that he was aware of Harry's presence.

Setting his wand back down beside Draco's, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and, prying Draco's nearer hand from the blankets, gripped it tightly in his own. "Malfoy," he said, "I'm here. This pain you're feeling now- it's all because of me, and I would take it from you if I could. God, I wish I could. But the least I can do is stay with you, so hold on as tight as you want. I won't let go."

Draco immediately clamped down on his hand with a grip like iron, leaving Harry, wincing, with no doubt that though he gave no other indication, the Slytherin had heard, and understood.